Chapter 10: The Stranger's Warning

POV: Nyra

The footsteps outside my door pause, then continue past.

I release a breath I didn't know I was holding.

The stranger is gone, vanished back through his hidden passage. But his words linger in the darkness like smoke.

Stop bleeding for him.

I sit in silence, my mind racing.

How did he get in here? How does he know about the chambers beneath the throne? About Caelum? About what they do to me?

The questions pile up with no answers.

Then I hear it again.

The soft scrape of stone against stone.

The hidden passage opens.

He's back.

"You're still here," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

"The guards weren't coming for you yet," he says quietly. "We have a few more minutes."

"Minutes for what?"

"For me to tell you what you need to know."

He moves closer in the darkness. I still can't see him, but I can feel his presence more clearly now. There's something different about him. Something that doesn't feel like the nobles or guards or even the servants I'm used to.

No oppressive weight. No instinctual pressure making me want to lower my eyes or shrink back.

He feels almost like me.

"You know too much," I say. "About the chambers. The chains. The blood. Things that are supposed to be secret."

"They're only secret from people who don't know where to look," he replies. "I've been watching you for weeks, Nyra. Watching what they do to you. Watching you break piece by piece."

The words send a chill through me.

"Watching from where?"

"From places the court doesn't know exist. From passages they've forgotten about. From the shadows they don't bother looking into because they think they control everything."

He shifts, and I hear fabric rustling.

"Here," he says. "I need you to see something."

A small light flares in the darkness.

Not bright. Just enough to illuminate his hand and what he's holding.

A seal. Metal, about the size of my palm, hanging from a leather cord around his neck.

The design is intricate. A wolf in mid-leap, surrounded by symbols I don't recognize. At the bottom, words carved in a language that looks old.

"What is that?" I ask.

"The mark of the Hunting Army," he says.

I stiffen.

"The Hunting Army? But they're..." I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence.

Traitors, the court calls them. Rebels. Half-bloods and defectors who rejected pack hierarchy.

"Criminals?" the stranger suggests, a hint of dark humor in his voice. "Traitors? Threats to the crown?"

"Yes," I admit.

"We're all of those things," he says calmly. "Because we refuse to let fate and bloodlines decide who deserves to live and who deserves to bleed."

He tucks the seal back under his shirt, hiding it.

"I'm telling you this so you understand. I'm not from the court. I'm not loyal to the throne. I'm here because people like us, people they call defective and disposable, deserve better than being bled dry in the dark."

"People like us," I repeat softly.

"Half-bloods. Defectives. Anyone who doesn't fit their perfect hierarchy. The Hunting Army was built for people like us. By people like us."

The light goes out, plunging us back into darkness.

"You said Caelum's condition is being worsened on purpose," I say, returning to what he claimed earlier. "That's impossible. Why would they do that?"

"To keep you compliant," he says simply. "To keep you necessary."

"That doesn't make sense. My survival is tied to Caelum's stability. If he gets worse, I become more valuable, not less."

"Exactly."

I shake my head, even though he can't see it.

"You're not making sense."

"Think about it, Nyra," the stranger says, his voice patient but urgent. "Why do you exist in their eyes? What makes you worth keeping alive?"

"My blood calms him," I answer immediately. "It's the only thing that stabilizes him when the rage takes over."

"Right. And as long as he needs your blood, you're useful. Valuable. Worth the resources it takes to keep you breathing."

"So?"

"So what happens if he gets better? If his episodes become less frequent? Less severe?"

The question hangs in the air.

"I... I don't know," I admit.

"You become unnecessary," the stranger says bluntly. "If Caelum can control himself without your blood, the court has no reason to keep you. You're just a defective taking up space and resources."

The logic hits me like cold water.

"But that would mean..."

"That would mean they have every reason to keep him unstable," the stranger finishes. "To keep the episodes coming. To make sure he always needs you just enough that they can justify keeping you alive, but never so much that you have any power or value beyond being a walking blood bag."

"No," I say, but the denial sounds weak even to my own ears.

"The scent-bombs," he continues. "The increased frequency of episodes. The way his condition seems to worsen right when you think it might be stabilizing. None of that is natural, Nyra. None of it is the bloodline madness progressing on its own."

"You're saying they're triggering him deliberately."

"I'm saying they're managing his condition. Keeping it at exactly the right level to justify your existence without letting either of you become too valuable or too dangerous."

I press my hands against the cold stone floor, needing something solid to ground me.

"I can't believe that," I say. "I refuse to believe the Queen Regent would deliberately hurt her own grandson just to control a defective."

"Why not?" the stranger asks. "What's one more victim when she's already sacrificed dozens of defectives before you? What's a little more pain for the heir when it keeps the throne stable and secure?"

"Because he's the heir," I insist. "Because he's her grandson. Because he matters."

"He matters as a symbol," the stranger says quietly. "As a title. As a continuation of the bloodline. But as a person? As her grandson? Do you really think she cares about his pain when power is at stake?"

I don't want to answer that.

Can't answer that.

Because deep down, I know what the answer is.

The Queen Regent has watched me bleed for three years without blinking. Has ordered me cut and used and displayed like property. Has never once asked if I was okay, if I could handle it, if there was another way.

Why would she treat Caelum any differently when it suits her purposes?

"Even if you're right," I say slowly, "what can I do about it? I'm property. I'm disposable. I have no power here."

"You have more power than you think," the stranger says. "You just don't know how to use it yet."

"The void thing," I murmur, remembering what Caelum told me. "Being a pheromone black hole."

"Exactly. Your blood doesn't soothe Caelum's rage. It erases the trigger. It nullifies the pheromones driving him toward violence. That's not a weakness, Nyra. That's a weapon."

"I don't know how to control it."

"You will," he says with certainty. "When the time comes, your body will know what to do. You just have to trust yourself enough to let it."

He moves toward the hidden passage again.

"Wait," I say. "You said you'd help me escape. How? When?"

"Soon," he promises. "But first, you need to buy time. You need to stay alive long enough for me to get everything in place."

"How do I do that?"

Something small and cool presses into my hand. A vial.

"This will slow your bleeding," he says. "Not stop it completely, but slow it enough that your body can start recovering. Use it sparingly. A few drops on each wound before you're called to bleed."

"Where did you get this?"

"From people who understand what you are better than the court ever will. From healers who aren't bound by royal decree."

I close my fingers around the vial, feeling its weight. It's small, barely larger than my thumb.

"The court would never allow this," I say. "If they find it..."

"Then hide it well," he says. "And use it carefully. This is your lifeline, Nyra. Don't waste it."

"Thank you," I whisper.

"Don't thank me yet," he says, and there's something grim in his tone. "We still have a long way to go before you're safe."

He's at the passage entrance now. I can hear the stone starting to shift.

"One more thing," I say quickly. "Your name. Please. I need to call you something."

He pauses.

"Eryx," he says finally. "My name is Eryx."

"Eryx," I repeat, testing the name. "Will I see you again?"

"Count on it," he says. "Just stay alive until then. And remember what I said. Stop bleeding for him if you can. Buy yourself time."

The stone shifts fully, opening the passage.

Then I hear it.

Footsteps in the corridor outside my cell. Multiple sets. Moving fast.

Too soon. The guards are coming back too soon.

"Go," I hiss at Eryx. "They're coming."

"I know," he says, his voice calm. "Be careful, Nyra. Trust no one in the court. Not even Caelum. His good intentions won't save you if he's being manipulated too."

The passage closes with a soft scrape.

He's gone.

I shove the vial into the only hiding place I have, tucking it into the wrapped bandage on my forearm, pressing it against my skin where the fabric will hold it secure.

The footsteps stop outside my door.

Keys jangle.

The lock grinds open.

Light floods in, blinding after so long in complete darkness. I raise my hand to shield my eyes.

The guard captain's silhouette fills the doorway, backlit by torchlight from the corridor.

He looks down at me with that familiar sneer.

"Get up," he orders. "The heir summoned you."

My heart lurches.

"What?"

"You heard me. The heir specifically requested your presence." The captain's sneer widens. "Apparently, even sedated and restrained, he won't shut up about you. So the Queen Regent has graciously decided to grant his request."

He steps into the cell and hauls me to my feet by my arm. His grip is bruising, deliberate.

"Let's see how long you last this time," he murmurs. "Now."